


Come Undone

by spacemonkey



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Crack, Gen, Zombies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-11
Updated: 2014-12-11
Packaged: 2018-03-01 01:30:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2754518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spacemonkey/pseuds/spacemonkey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They didn't talk about it</p>
            </blockquote>





	Come Undone

**Author's Note:**

> This was written after Season 3 ended, when everyone was so tense and upset about the whole Dean thing. There's a hint of Wincest thrown in at the end, but it's all in good fun

They didn't talk about it.  
  
Not in the first day, not in the second, and it was a week on before Dean started to get the niggling sense of, "maybe I should....nah."  
  
See, he couldn't say much, because Sam was sitting there, smiling his little smile at his hands, at the sky, at any poor bastard that happened to walk past and be freaked out. And sometimes, not often but he knew he was always thinking it, Sam would offer that little smile to Dean. That was kinda like bliss, Dean might have said if they were talking about it, but they weren't, so it was mostly about demons and guns and holy water and whatever, maybe even a few chicks thrown in there from Dean's perspective, never from Sam's and Dean tried not to think that was weird because that was Sammy for ya.  
  
So it went maybe two and a half weeks, with supposed bliss and whatever else you wanted to label it, happy days and whatnot, with only those poor bastards walking past freaking out and the occasional glance up over the top of those big dusty old books that Dean was sometimes sure they would make a better weapon than education, all the good they had done him. Sometimes Bobby would even open his mouth, let out a "Son, maybe..." and then go back to not reading while Sam let his little smile drop.   
  
Happy Days and whatnot. And then suddenly, Dean found the niggling sense literally spilling out of his brain. "Okay, that's it!"  
  
"Something on your mind, Dean?" Sam barely looked up from the tv, Fonzie obviously more important than his big brother losing his mind.  
  
"Something on my mind? Something on my mind?! Jesus Sam, I mean -"   
  
"What?"  
  
Dean held out his hand wordlessly,  _they didn't talk about it after all_  and gave Sam a pointed look. "Do you know what that is?"  
  
"Uh, your hand?"  
  
"What's in my hand, Sam!"  
  
"Okay, it's a piece of your brain, so what?" Sam shrugged, noncommittal and all that, and went back to his leather clad God.  
  
"So what? Sam, I'm actually falling apart here. I mean, really falling apart. I'm a freakin' zombie for crying out loud, you don't find this the least bit worrying?" Dean flung his brain particle against the wall, hand going with it and he stupidly watched it  _thwack_  and slide. "Damn, that was my special me time hand."  
  
"Dean!" Sam screwed up his face in disgust.  
  
"Oh, don't worry, Sam. I can't even do that anymore. You know, too much of a hazard and all. Oh and by the way, I'm a FREAKING ZOMBIE!"  
  
"Okay, look." Sam launched himself up from the couch and towards Dean's hand. "Before you get all judgmental and you, I think we should talk about this." He picked up Dean's hand, ignoring the brain splatter, turned around and used the useless limb to gesture. "One. You're not a zombie."  
  
"Immortal being, whatever. And I'm pretty sure you got the voodoo wrong on that one, Sammy, because I don't think Doc Benton started falling apart after a  _couple of weeks_!" Dean plonked his ass down on the couch, gently because there was chance of it getting stuck and not coming back up with him, and glared at Sam.   
  
"Uh, to be fair Dean, you weren't exactly in vintage condition to begin with." Sam twisted his mouth, staring past Dean's head and then let out a heaving sigh. "Look, it's not like it's temporary or anything. Bobby is going to find something, he is. You should just..." Another sigh. "Dean-"  
  
"You should have just left that damn journal buried with Doc Benton, that's what you should have done. Damnit, Sam, you knew my opinion on this!"  
  
"Dean," Sam said again, quiet this time and with the tiniest hint of tears welling in his eyes. Dean swallowed and felt a little bit of blood spurt from where his arm had until recently been. Great. Just great. "I couldn't leave you there, Dean, I couldn't."  
  
Dean understood this, he did. Almost. He would have done the same thing if Sam had been in his place. Hell, he kinda already had. But he wasn't exactly sure that if zombie had been on the plate for Sam. . . "Would you wanna be a zombie?"  
  
"Does anyone want to be a zombie?" Sam managed a watery smile. "It's not exactly the greatest lifestyle choice but. You're here, aren't you? Here with me? You're alive, Dean."  
  
"Yeah, barely." Dean fell back against the couch, arms crossed against his chest as he refused to look at Sam. "Bits and pieces falling off of me, I  _stink_. Don't even want to think about having sex. That could be...yeah, that could be-" Dean really didn't want to think about it. Even if he kinda did. But no.  
  
"Yeah." Sam set Dean's arm down on top of the tv, walked over to the couch and sat down. "I know. I'm sorry."  
  
"Don't be sorry," Dean answered automatically, sniffed and without warning, lost his nose to the floor. Sam and Dean both stared at it. "Well, maybe a little sorry."  
  
"I'm gonna go see if Bobby's got anything." Sam all but bolted from the couch, stopping in the doorway and looking back. "Hey Dean?"  
  
"What?" Dean asked, grouchy and a bit nasally.   
  
"You really...I mean, you  _really_  can't have sex?"  
  
"Well, I haven't exactly tested it out Sam, but I'm gonna say no, probably not." Dean gestured with his one arm to his fallen nose, as if to prove a point and Sam nodded.  
  
"Huh. Yeah, well it's probably best. You don't exactly smell that great."  
  
"I''m pretty sure I've got other things to worry about than personal hygiene right now, Sam. If that's even possible, me being a corpse and all."  
  
Sam nodded, leaning against the frame as he eyed Dean up and down. "Yeah. Probably best I don't consider it then," he muttered.  
  
"Yeah, probably." Dean watched Sam walk off, glanced at the tv, then frowned. "Wait, consider what? Sammy?  _Consider what_?"  
  
Sam didn't answer and Dean wasn't sure if he was glad or not. But Sam went back to smiling, brighter than before and when Dean couldn't find his missing limb, he decided maybe,  _really_  just maybe it was another thing that they shouldn't talk about.


End file.
